she took her name off the list

I’m sharing a butter cookie recipe with you today, a really simple and delicious cookie recipe. The recipe comes from Gourmet magazine (of course – all the good ones do), and I only tweaked it a tiny bit, not enough to really count.

But really, what I want to share with you is a story about my mother.

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My mother is a teacher. She is retired now, but once a teacher, always a teacher. During my early school years, she taught sixth grade, but the year I started fourth grade, she transferred to my school and taught the fourth grade class across the hall from mine. The teachers switched classrooms for part of the day – or maybe the students did – so for some hours of the day, my mother was my teacher.

I was so proud of my mother for being a teacher. It was exhilarating having her stand in front of my classroom, and I loved being known as “Mrs. George’s daughter.” I loved watching her teach, but it terrified me when she called on me. I didn’t want to disappoint her by not knowing the answer, and I definitely didn’t want her to think I was stupid. It’s only fitting that the one time I can vividly recall her calling on me in class is the time that I got tongue-twisted and stammered out an answer that made no sense.

My mom continued to teach for a long time after that, until May 2010, when she retired. I think she intended to travel with my father, to spend the daylight hours photographing birds and flowers, to enjoy her grandchildren, and to relax. Instead, my grandmother was diagnosed with lymphoma, moved in with my parents, and my mother became her caregiver.

Within a year, she became a caregiver again, for my father, when he had his first illness, the one that put him in a wheelchair for the rest of his life.

And all of this time, she has been the main source of support for my disabled brother, who has schizophrenia.

My mother has shown incredible strength these last several years, since she retired and took on caregiving full time. She has been strong not because she wanted to be, or because she is inherently strong (she is), but because she simply had no other choice. Out of necessity – and out of love – she has prioritized the needs and desires of other people.

In the process, she has repeatedly put herself last.

When my father died in late February, Mom didn’t just put herself last on the list – she took her name off the list entirely.

She stopped socializing as often with her teacher friends. The regular dominoes game she played with another group of women fell to the wayside, replaced by taking my grandmother for a haircut or some other obligation. She stopped reading, unless it was my grandmother’s prescription bottles or the regular monthly bills that came in the mail. She stopped cooking.

Finally, she stopped eating.

My mother was hospitalized last week with dehydration and malnutrition. She spent five days in that hospital room, undergoing blood tests, scans, procedures, and receiving intravenous fluids. Scary diagnoses were ruled out, one by one, and slowly she began to feel more like herself.

I sat by her side as often as I could, but not as often as I would have liked (that whole work/parenting/life balance thing). But when I was there, we were able to simply be together and to talk when the mood struck. I flipped through magazines, knit some stitches on the scarf I’m working on, and we reminisced.

“This reminds me of your father,” she said once, when she tried to walk on shaky legs.

As she was being wheeled to the endoscopy suite, she said, “I remember this tunnel.” Of course she did. My father had been wheeled through that same tunnel, the one that connects the two towers of the hospital, several times.

When she was finally discharged, on the fifth day, her discharge instructions were simple: Eat. And though the final diagnosis was not on the paperwork, we both knew what it was. It was grief.

She’s doing better now, after almost one full week at home. Thanks to her amazing friends, she has had plenty of hot meals on hand – ready to eat, no cooking required. She plans to play dominoes again soon, and I hope she begins reading again.

My mother is beautiful and strong, even after losing a ridiculous amount of weight these past months. She has the most wonderful sense of humor. She is creative and inspiring. Her passion for teaching – and her skill at doing so – is unrivaled. I have been proud of my mother for all of these things and so many more, for as long as I can remember.

Today, I am most proud of my mom for putting herself back on her list.

And I will always love being known as “Mrs. George’s daughter.”